3

Three used to be my lucky number. I claimed it back in high school the day my first boyfriend asked me out. I was 15. It was the day before my birthday. Third day of my birthday month. For the last 17 years 3 has been my go to number, and it has served me well. When I started this post 6 sentences ago, I thought I was going to say I was done with the number 3, but once again 3 has saved my ass.

From the moment I walked out the hotel door after my break up with Daniel to the moment I caved and texted him, it was just a few hours over 3 days. In that time I had told 2 friends, the man, and considered making an emergency appointment with my therapist. I was devastated.

The first friend, Lynn, congratulated me on taking a step in the right direction. She assured me it would get easier and that I should just take it one day at a time. She didn't care what my decision was, just supported the fact that I had MADE one. Sadly, when I needed her most to check in on me, she was busy being pregnant and mothering a 2 year old. She couldn't have known and I know it is only my impression of things, but I felt that if I didn't contact her she forgot about me.

The second friend I told, Lorraine, promptly gave me a smack up side the head. She said, and I quote, "Well good. It was time you shit or get off the pot." In her defense, I expected this response. My friends have made no bones about telling me their thoughts. However, I had hoped I might get a little conciliatory hug before the swift kick in the ass.

These first responses to my despair just caused me more heartache. I felt so alone and the only person I wanted to talk to, I couldn't. I hadn't intended on telling the man. In fact, I distanced myself from him as much as possible. In the end, he caught me in a weak moment of tears and distraction. I told him I had broken up with Daniel. I don't know WHAT I expected his reaction to be, but what it was, CERTAINLY didn't sit well with me. He was triumphant. Happy. He had "won." He attempted to console me, but his good cheer was too obvious to bear. The worst part though? Five min after I told him, when I'm still crying inconsolably, he tries to get in my pants.

Needless to say, this was the final straw. I hemmed and hawed for another couple of hours before I finally contacted Daniel. I had been trying to leave him little messages on twitter in the hopes that he would give me some reassurance that he was as broken up as I was, but he was being stubborn. I deserved it. I created this mess and I was paying for it.

Thankfully, in the end we reconnected. We now have an end date to this whole affair. We have agreed that by April 1, 2011 we will be together, or...well, I can't say "or," cause that's NOT going to happen. It can't. I can't go back to my marriage. I love him, but I'm not IN LOVE with him. He is currently my roommate and friend, but nothing more. It's painful to know that I made mistakes in getting where I am, but I have to focus on the fact that those mistakes made me frances. I'm trying to get better. I need to be better. I WANT to get better. And those 3 things are going to lead me to daniel.

So, yeah, 3 is still my lucky number.